A Fire Sparkling

by MacLean, Julianne

  Vivian followed all the rules because rules were imposed for a reason, but she soon grew frustrated. After three weeks, she began to feel angry with her sister all over again for being so reckless.

  Why hadn’t she responded to Vivian’s letters? Was she no longer living at the same address? Had she skipped off to some other more enticing location without informing anyone? It was the same old story. April had always ignored Vivian’s warnings and climbed higher and higher in the proverbial tree until she was out of reach and in danger of falling to her death. This was no different. It felt exactly the same.

  It was not something Vivian wanted to do, but she had no choice. Nearly a month had passed with no word from her sister, and she couldn’t wait any longer. She was worried, and Theodore was eager to marry her. The time had come to take the next step. She had to ring her father.

  She waited in the queue for the red telephone box at the end of her street, and when her turn came, she dialed the number for the wine shop. Her heart thudded against her rib cage as she waited for him to answer, for the mere anticipation of his gruff voice in the earpiece was enough to evoke harrowing memories of his drunken rages.

  “Hello?” His curtness caused a jolt in her gut, but she managed to maintain her calm.

  “Hello, Papa. It’s Vivian.”

  Silence.

  “Are you there?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m here,” he finally replied. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and rested her forehead on the heel of her hand, feeling more certain than ever that she had done the right thing when she left him. “I’m trying to reach April. I wrote her a letter, but she hasn’t answered, and I’m worried. Have you heard from her?”

  “Not a word since she took off. She could be dead for all I know.”

  It was such a callous thing to say about his own daughter. It made Vivian’s stomach turn.

  “All I have is the address of the cabaret where she worked,” Vivian said, “but I can’t find a telephone number. There seems to be no listing.”

  “Maybe they went out of business.”

  “That’s possible, but where would she have gone if that happened? Is there anyone you know in Bordeaux who could help us? I know that Maman didn’t have any family, but did she have any friends there?”

  He was quiet for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. “There was a woman named Angelique. She was a singer at the club, and they were friends.”

  “Do you have a contact number for her?”

  “No, but they shared a flat together. It was on . . . let me see if I can remember.” He paused. “Rue Segalier. That’s it. Her last name was Mercier. You can start there.”

  “I will. Thank you.” Vivian was about to say goodbye because there were others waiting in line to use the telephone, but something made her hesitate. “How are you, Papa?”

  “Fine,” he replied. “How’s the job?”

  The next person in line knocked impatiently on the glass. Vivian held up a finger to indicate that she needed one more minute.

  “It’s wonderful. I’m very happy.”

  She wondered if she should tell him that she was engaged to be married, but she wasn’t sure she wanted him at her wedding, nor did she wish to explain that Theodore’s family had disowned him over their engagement. Her father would probably have all sorts of spiteful things to say about that.

  “I need to go,” he said. “I have customers.”

  Well, that answered her question.

  “Fine. Goodbye,” she said. “And be careful during the blackout.”

  The line clicked before she could finish speaking, so she hung up the phone and dropped another coin into the slot, paying no mind to the woman who was knocking on the glass. Vivian gave the name Angelique Mercier to the switchboard operator, and a moment later, she was connected to a number in Bordeaux.

  “Bonjour,” a woman answered cheerfully. “Angelique speaking.”

  “Bonjour,” Vivian replied, switching effortlessly to French. “I’m so glad you answered. My name is Vivian Hughes, and I believe you knew my mother. Her name was Margaux Marchand, and she used to sing at a cabaret with you. Do you remember her?”

  There was a long pause. “Vivian?”

  Vivian exhaled with relief. Then she jumped when the woman outside the telephone box pounded on the door.

  Vivian swung around, opened the door, and snapped at her. “I’m talking to France. This is an emergency. Give me a moment, please.”

  She shut the door and apologized to Angelique. “I’m so sorry about that. I’m hoping you can help me. I’m looking for my sister, April Hughes. She went to Bordeaux to sing in a cabaret, and—”

  “Oui, oui. April was here. She sang for us. You have not heard from her?”

  “Not since she left London six months ago. I tried reaching her at the cabaret, but—”

  “Oh, my poor darling. The cabaret shut down. It was a very sad day.”

  Vivian wanted to know more, but she needed to make this quick because she had only a moment to talk. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you know where April went? I need to get in touch with her.”

  There was a long, conspicuous pause. “I wish I could help you, but she didn’t leave a forwarding address, and she hasn’t been in touch since she left.”

  “When was that?”

  “A few months ago. Now, with the war on, I’m quite worried about her. I told her not to go, but she wouldn’t listen. She’s just like your mother. So similar. It was like this when Margaux fell for your father and ran off to England to be with him. There was no stopping her.”

  Vivian closed her eyes. “You told her not to go where?”

  Angelique huffed with frustration. “She fell in love with a German fellow.”

  Vivian’s eyes flew open. “I beg your pardon? Are you telling me that she went to Germany?”

  The woman standing outside the phone box rapped on the glass again, but Vivian ignored her.

  “Oui. Three months ago. And now we are at war with Hitler. Heaven help your poor, sweet sister.”

  Vivian’s stomach began to burn with anxiety. “Do you know the man’s name? Is there any information you can give me? Anything at all?”

  “His first name was Ludwig. That’s all I know. She knew I didn’t approve, so she was very secretive about him. She left me a note, which I did not see until after she was gone. I believe that was her intention—to sneak off without anyone trying to stop her.”

  “What did the note say?”

  “Not much. Only that she was following her heart and that I shouldn’t worry, because it was true love. She thanked me for giving her a chance to sing. That was all.”

  Vivian rested her forehead on the side of the telephone. “Thank you, Angelique. You’ve been very helpful. And please, if you hear from her, will you ask her to contact me right away? I work for the Ministry of Supply now, and she can reach me there. Can you write that down, please? The Ministry of Supply. Yes, that’s right. Then tell her I want her to come home, because I’m getting married.”

  “Oh! Congratulations, Vivian. How wonderful for you.”

  “Thank you.” The phone clicked, and they were cut off.

  Vivian hung up the receiver and turned to open the door. The woman outside gave her a scathing look as she stepped out, but Vivian’s thoughts were elsewhere.

  April had fallen in love with a German? Did that mean she was somewhere across enemy lines at this very moment?

  April . . . how could you be so foolish?

  Sometimes it was impossible to believe that they had shared the same womb for nine months and become exact mirror images of each other.

  On the outside, they were twins. Identical to the naked eye. But on the inside, they were as different as two sisters could be.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  2011

  “Wait a second,” Dad said. “You had a twin sister?”

  Gram slid forward on the chair and rose stif
fly to her feet. “I have to use the bathroom.”

  I was in such shock I couldn’t even speak as I watched her shuffle out of the room.

  As soon as she was gone, I met Dad’s stunned gaze. “Obviously, that’s the woman in the photographs,” I said. “It wasn’t even Gram. It was her twin sister. That’s what ‘April in Berlin’ meant. It had nothing to do with springtime. So at least that answers your question. You didn’t have a Nazi war criminal for a father.”

  He slumped back on the sofa and let out a breath. “I can’t deny that I’m relieved, but why wouldn’t she tell me she had a twin? Why would she keep that a secret? And did Jack know? He must have, because they met during the war.” A shadow of dismay crossed my father’s face. “Whatever happened to her?”

  Night had fallen, and a cold wintry wind rattled the windowpanes. I stood up to switch on a lamp. “I wonder if Gram even knows. She said she lost track of April when the war started. God knows what might have happened to her after that. Maybe she died.”

  The toilet flushed in the bathroom. I sat back down, waiting for Gram to return. When she finally appeared, her head was hung low. “This has made me very tired. I’m going to bed.”

  She turned to leave. Neither Dad nor I tried to stop her, even though we were desperate to know more about the fate of her sister.

  Slowly, Gram climbed the stairs, gripping the railing as she went. As soon as her bedroom door clicked shut, Dad and I turned to each other.

  “She doesn’t want to talk about it,” I said. “It must be painful for her.”

  “Something bad must have happened,” he added. “That’s probably why she’s never talked about it before.”

  We sat in silence while we digested what we had learned. The grandfather clock ticked steadily in the front hall, and I shivered with a sudden chill. I rose to fetch my sweater from the chair in the kitchen.

  Dad followed me. “How about we order a pizza?” he suggested.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I’m hungry again.”

  “I never say no to pizza.”

  He picked up the phone and placed the order. Then we sat down at the table to wait.

  “The suspense is killing me,” I said. “You know, we could search Ancestry dot-com to try and find out what happened to April. There might be some record of her birth and death.”

  “How do we know she’s dead?” Dad asked. “Maybe she’s still alive.”

  “I doubt it. Otherwise, I’m sure we would have heard about her by now. Even if they’d had a terrible falling out, it was a lifetime ago, and they were twins. Surely, they would have gotten over it. No one could hold a grudge that long. One of them would have reached out.”

  “It’s hard to know,” he replied. “But there’s no point guessing when Gram’s upstairs with all the answers. I’ll definitely ask her about it when she wakes up, and I’ll find out the truth, even if I have to drown her in gin and tonics to do it. Whatever it takes.”

  “Go easy on her, Dad. She’s ninety-six.”

  “Yeah, but you’d never know it.” He sat back. “You saw her playing the piano today. She’s still as fast as a whip. Always was.”

  We talked for a while about all the other things Gram still managed to do on her own—like her taxes, hosting a bridge club once a week, and attending knitting club every second Thursday. The woman was a force of nature.

  The glow of headlights appeared in the front windows, followed by the sound of car tires rolling over the gravel.

  “Pizza’s here.” I rose from my chair.

  “I already paid for it over the telephone,” Dad mentioned as he set out plates and cutlery.

  Footsteps tapped up the front steps outside, but when I opened the door, I was surprised to discover that it wasn’t the pizza delivery person at all. It was Malcolm, dressed in a charcoal sports jacket and jeans, his wavy dark hair blowing in the wind. He looked as handsome as any man had a right to look, and my stomach dropped.

  While standing on the other side of the screen door under the porch light, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, “Sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

  I made no move to invite him in. “What are you doing here, Malcolm?”

  “I had to see you.”

  “I told you I needed space.”

  “I know, but I couldn’t just leave things the way they were. And you wouldn’t answer my texts. I was worried about you. I thought you might have come here, so I took a chance.”

  I still hadn’t opened the screen door because I didn’t want to invite him in. I just wanted him to turn around and leave. “You shouldn’t have come all this way.”

  “I had to, Gill. Please . . .” A cold wind gusted through the treetops, and he blew into his fists. “God, it’s freezing out here. Can’t I come inside? Just for a minute? I promise I won’t stay, but I need to say a few things. Just let me say them, and I swear I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone forever, if that’s what you want.”

  I laughed bitterly. “I can’t really put much stock in your promises, though, can I?”

  He looked down at his feet. “I deserve that, no question. But please, Gill, just hear me out.”

  Lord help me. He looked so pitiful out there, shivering in the cold, and I wasn’t completely without compassion. With a sigh of defeat, I decided to let him in, just to get warm. I’d listen to what he had to say. Then I’d show him out.

  As soon as I pushed the door open, my father appeared from the kitchen. “I thought you were the pizza guy.”

  “No. Sorry, Edward. It’s just me.”

  “Well, come on in, then.” Dad returned to the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”

  One thing about my father—he was always a gracious and welcoming host, even when I didn’t want him to be.

  “No thanks,” Malcolm replied. “I just popped in for a minute.”

  Wanting to get this over with, I led Malcolm into the living room. “We’re expecting pizza any minute now, so if you don’t mind . . .”

  “Sure. Can we sit down?”

  I surrendered, just to hurry things along. Malcolm took a seat at one end of the sofa, and I sat at the other.

  Dad popped his head through the door. “I’m going up to check on Gram.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I replied, knowing he was only giving us some privacy. He left us alone and made his way up the stairs. I turned my attention back to Malcolm. “Well?”

  “It’s good to see you. I missed you.”

  “It’s been less than twenty-four hours, so let’s try and keep things in perspective, okay?”

  “Fair enough.” Malcolm took a breath, and I sensed he was nervous, which was very unlike him. He was usually cool and collected. Always confident.

  “I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk to me,” he said. “What I did was unforgivable, and I’m sick over it.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  “Seriously, Gill.” He looked up. “I’m really sick over it. I want to vomit every time I think about what happened. I’ve never done anything like that before. I’ve never cheated on you, and I can’t even begin to describe the regret I’m feeling right now. I mean it. If only I had a time machine. I’d go back to last night, and I’d tell that girl to back off. Then I’d walk out and return to the party.”

  “You can’t undo it, Malcolm.”

  His eyes met mine, and he reached for my hand. “I know, and I’m going to have to live with that for the rest of my life. But haven’t you ever done anything stupid? In some crazy moment when you weren’t thinking straight?”

  I thought about all the mistakes I’d made in my twenties, when I had been completely messed up over the death of my mother. There were dozens of things I wished I’d done differently. But I had been young and lost.

  Perhaps I was still lost. Maybe Malcolm was too.

  “I turned fifty yesterday,” he continued, “and I think it was some sort of midlife crisis. I
’d had too much to drink, and I guess I wanted to feel like I still had my whole life ahead of me, so I was a jerk. But what I didn’t realize was that you’re the only thing I want in my future. I don’t want to be with some young fashion model—or any other woman. I just want you. The last few years have been the best of my life, and I don’t want to lose what we had. I know I’ve been against us getting married, but only because I was married once before, and it didn’t end well. But now I’m looking at my future without you, and that’s not what I want. You’re everything to me. You’re the best woman I’ve ever known, and what happened last night made that very clear to me. I’ve been going crazy since you left. I was disgusted with myself for hurting you, and for letting that girl . . .” He stopped. “Listen, it was an eye-opener, and I swear to God, Gillian, I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll never do anything like that again. You have to believe me.”

  I felt a slight wavering, a softening of my emotions, so I turned my face away, because I didn’t want to give in quite so fast, or so easily. I needed to remember the hurt and the heartache from last night and how I was so certain that I could never, ever trust Malcolm again. How could I be happy in the future if I feared he might be easily seduced by a younger, prettier face?

  He brushed his fingers lightly over the back of my hand, and his touch was so tender and familiar that it stirred something in me—something fragile. Only yesterday, I had been madly in love with this man and dreaming of a marriage proposal. In some ways, what had happened at the party felt like a terrible hallucination. I couldn’t believe it was real. But it was.

  “Please, Gill, if you can find a way to forgive me . . . I still love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone. You’re all I want, and if I lose you now, I don’t think I could survive.” He raised my hand to his lips, closed his eyes, and kissed it. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I swear I’ve learned my lesson. I’m almost glad it happened, because now I see everything so much more clearly.”